


Warm Him Up.

by writing_blockhead



Category: Septiplier - Fandom, Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Ice Skater Jack, Ice Skater Mark, Ice Skating, Insecurity, Instead of Mark getting filmed, It's Jack who films himself and gets his publicity and potential for ice skating, Jack Won as Champion at the Grand Prix Final for the Third Time, Let's Say Mark can Drink in this Fic/AU LMAO, M/M, Mark is as Mentally Crippled as Yuri, Self-Hatred, Yuri on Ice!!! AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2016-12-11
Packaged: 2018-09-03 01:29:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8691238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writing_blockhead/pseuds/writing_blockhead
Summary: I, my own creation, have seen me come undone.Come undone under the thoughts of;FailureDisappointmentTearsWasted potentialFearFailure.Because of that, I no longer feel confident on how I glide, how I jump, how I spin, how I dance. A few can see me.And I perform explicitly to the ones whom I trust the most.Including a little birthday celebrant, excited of the ice and the snow and the rink and me on it.But I've messed up in front of a 10 year old boy, and he comforted me with reassurance and smiles.I spoke of nothing and I immediately ran away.It must be so nice to trust on yourself.





	

The chilly afternoon air nipped at exposed skin and surfaces, freezing them until they can no longer handle it or kept ignoring it.

Warm tears flowed from his brown irises and went past his black framed glasses, turning them cold as well.

He stood on the icy floor of the frozen lake, skates still on his feet and hurting him, expression ever the same from his Point A (a public yet desolate ice rink) to Point B (a frozen and possibly unstable lake), but he couldn't bring himself to care about a trivial matter.

There's nothing else in the man's mind, except for one thing that kept his eyes bloodshot and wet.

" ** _I messed up little Tim's present performance I messed up little Tim's present performance I messed up little Tim's present performance I messed up little Tim's present performance I messed up little Tim's present performance I messed up little Tim's present performance I messed —_** "

All of his skating practice seemed like nothing but useless,  _ **useless.**_ He was trained to dance and skate and spin and jump for years, but it felt like all knowledge and skill slipped out of his head when he saw little bright blue eyes witness his failure exquisite.

"Hey, it's okay!" He would reassure the man, hugging him tightly. "It's okay to mess up, even at the ice skate contest thing you joined months ago!"

His smile was big yet comforting, it always warmed up his soggy heart. But why isn't it working right now? Why is he still heavy and bleary?

Why?

Why?

All coherent thoughts and logic had been swept away, leaving him boneless and bloodless and ashless and thoughtless.

 _Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why?_  

"Why?" is all he could croak out before he ran away from a confused Tim. His 

And it all wraps up to here.

Cold and alone in a frozen lake, bawling his bloodshot eyes out, feet and lungs tired and painful.

Heart torn to the point of scraps.

The skater and failure called Mark Edward Fischbach.

"I'll be fine," He whispers to himself, not feeling fine at all. "I can move on from this."

It's only luck that he'll easily forget about this. He lies to himself to feel better, it sometimes works. Usually it's his dog, Chica, makes him feel better.

But Chica's not here; she's back in the apartment, probably eating the walls. She's better off that way, honestly.

Mark mutters to himself kind words of reassurance and comfort, such as:  _I'll be fine, This won't affect you as a person, Tim will still love you and performance no matter what, This isn't working at all, I'm a huge failure, I keep messing up, Why do I even bother?, I won't catch up, There's no redemption for me._

He curled up tighter into a ball, burying his face on his knees and soaking his pants wet with droplets from his eyes.

The rational part of Mark's head voiced, " _Why am I feeling bad about this? I'm human, and all humans aren't perfect and can't prevent themselves from making mistakes!_ " As soon his internal rationale began to convince him into a better state of body and mind, melancholy mellowing out, the anxious part of Mark's head yelled and tattled and rambled and nagged.

" _ ~~THIS IS NOT FINE; YOU HAVE A CONSECUTIVE LINE OF MISTAKES WITH THE WEIGHT OF THE WORLD AND THE HEIGHT OF A WATCHTOWER. YOU'VE DONE NOTHING BUT MAKE A TOWER OF MISTAKES THAT WE BOTH REGRET. YOU'VE DONE NOTHING GOOD NOTHING GOOD NO GOOD NO GOOD~~_ "

It grew louder and louder, and the tell tale heart of the anxious part won and Mark heaved and sobbed harder, and the rationale rotted into an ashy cadaver.

" **This isn't me!** " Mark shrieked, heart out of his sleeve for no one to witness. "Fuck, I get the point! It's **my fucking fault!** "

He stood up from the ground, skates hurting his feet and hands white fron the cold and the hard clench. "I don't care anymore if people can hear!" He screamed even louder, throat tired  and scratchy from overuse. "They **wouldn't want to trouble with me** , anyway!"

Just with that, Mark screeched with all his air, might, lungs, pain and more pain out. It felt therapeutic and tension-relieving, he would admit. He was like a banshee, howling with all its might, as if that's the only purpose they serve. He kept yelling louder and louder, as if a lynne took him in and the last step is shaky and white-knuckled hands fly to his throat as he shrieks.

And he stopped.

Mark stopped yelling.

He took in deep breaths, _in and out, in and out, in and out, in and out_ , thinking, " _Yelling f_ _elt good._ "

Mark would do it again, but his vocal chords had enough abuse, probably leaving him voiceless and miserable. He loves being chatty. Instead, he opted to check if he still had his phone, wallet, keys and earphones (out of instinct) and go home to warm up and sulk with Chica for the next weeks.

He patted his jacket pockets and jean pockets, feeling everything in there. " _Good_ ," Mark sighed, and then bended down towards his feet.  _"I should just take off my skates and go home. Probably will get bad blisters, bruises and pain in general if I obviously don't take it off._ "

Just about he was about to tie off the laces, his phone slipped out of his jacket pocket. It fell to the ground but the phone didn't break, nor did the lake so it was a win-win situation. He merely picked it up and turned it on, just to see what he missed.

There's a few texts from his roommatesTyler, Matt and Ryan and little Tim, asking where he is right now. He quickly sent a reply to all of them that he went out for a bit and will be going home in a while. Mark also made sure to make Tim's more apologetic because he's the birthday boy for today and he deserves it.

And just the man was about to shove his phone to his jeans pocket, he stopped. No outside force delaying him; just his own thoughts and decisions. He pulled out his earphones, plugged them on the jack, put them on and began to play one routine that inspired his free skate and short program. The initial routine **wasn't** his, but it's quite inspired by it.

Sure, he hated to recall his impending failure to his short program and free skate at his first Grand Prix Final and the American Nationals, but his coach choreographed it well that he simply can't forget it. " _If only I could translate its spectacular stuff into figure skating without the language barrier of fear_ ," Mark mused, skating towards the middle and began to position the starting pose of the routine.

The ring of the first few notes blared through his earphones, and his hands and feet and body begin to glide, letting the music fill his heart, mind and soul. His coach always told him that the best part about Mark performing is that he's always one with the music, no matter what type. The music was his bones, muscles and nerves.

Sadly, his plague-ridden brain and heart created a barrier to block it, squiggles of lines and standby bars on television are ringing on his ears.

" _Technicality doesn't matter anymore_ ," Mark thought, jumping off with the toe of his right skate, spinning three times then landing with no difficulty. " _It's not like anyone can see nor hear this shitty mimic performance._ "

But deep down, he wanted to flaunt on how he performed Circles. He practiced this when he felt down, memorized it by heart, with or without the music. It was one of his biggest inspirations, including the skater who made and skated to this song.

The pre-chorus came in, repeating the six lines of **Repeating, repeating, I'm dying, I'm breathing, repeating, repeating, I'm crying, I'm healing** for a multitude of times. It was the cue for the mellow yet expressive step sequence.

He twisted and turned to the lyrics of the song, pouring whatever is left from his heart. "This is all I can offer," He whispered under his breath. "Unlikely, but I hope this can make up the disappointment I've caused."

And the song abruptly stops, but he kept on moving and spinning, holding on to his foot from the back. When the last chorus kicked in, he let it the foot go and continued the performance. Mark jumped and spun with more intensity and let all of his thoughts go to waste. No more distractions, no more anxiety, no more bad memories. Just skating and dancing.

When the song came to a close, he ended with a pose; head down, arms spread, palms down and stature bowed. He heaved in and out, tired but still going strong. " _That got a lot out of me_ ," Mark thought, slowly flopping down to the ice and lied down on the frozen lake. " _I swear that I'm gonna pass out on ice, one of these days_."

He closed his eyes, finding the cold weather and the freezing lake would be a nice solace, and rested a bit, catching his breath and soothing the numbness and dull pain on his feet and legs. " _Maybe I can sleep for a bit in here_ ," The man considered, fatigue ruining his rationale, and started to fall asleep...

Until there was clapping. Rather loud and excited clapping.

Mark quickly sat up, startled at the sudden noise and snapped his head in every direction to see what's making the clapping. Can't find anything in his peripheral, he scrambled to stand up and turned around him, checking on who was making the noise.

It came from his back. It was a rather happy looking man, blue eyes sparkling in delight as he clapped with his mitten-covered hands. He donned regular winter clothes, a gray little beanie and a shoe bag, bulky from the inside. From his beanie, brown hair and his reddening ears peeked out from it.

"That was amazing!" He exclaimed, having a bit of an accent in there. Scottish? Irish? British? Mark wasn't sure. "That was like, wow. I've never seen a good mimic of Circles! Not that everyone had made one, but this is probably the best!"

Mark was downright confused and a little flattered. "Oh, uh, thanks," He croaked out. "I guess?" The man simply chuckled and smiled, giggles sounding oddly melodius to Mark's ears. And also familiar...

"Who might you be?" The man on ice said, mind telling him to confirm his suspicions and denying that this possibility is true. " _It can't be..._ " He mind told himself. " _It can't be **him**..._ "

The mystery man perked up, eyes brightening even more than regular eyes should do. He waved and introduced himself, "I'm Sean! Sean McLoughlin, but call me Jack! I'm the dude who made the Circles performance! Kinda made that when I heard the song, actually"

His biggest inspiration, who is also the three-timed champion in the Grand Prix Final, saw him perform his most recent choreography.

Mark wished that the lake would just cave out and swallow him until he freezes and dies.

To make matters worse...

"Wait... Aren't you that guy who drank more than sixteen flutes of champagne at the GPF Banquet? You challenged the Russian rep to a dance-off! And you pole-danced with Chris! And danced tango with me!"

" _Let me die, please._ "

**Author's Note:**

> me: i'm sure i had enough addictions for today  
> Yuri!! On Ice:  
> me: hSIT—
> 
> decided to make some angst and sad Mark bc that's who i actually am; sad, insecure and gay. and i have so many good ideas for suffering characters, both original and non-original, but i can't project it to visual nor literary works because i feel like it's not accurate (???) lmao. so this is technically my first angst! woohoo!! suffering!!!
> 
> also, the song in the fic is called Circles by Yusukekira ft Gumi English. i know; Vocaloid. trash, but good shit.


End file.
